


Hear Her Roar

by Elenothar



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Character Study, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 01:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar
Summary: The Lioness at rest in five acts.





	Hear Her Roar

**Author's Note:**

> Tortall is one of those fandoms that I occasionally, happily dip my toe into again. Sometimes a sudden current carries me on. Also, I have a lot of feelings about Alanna of Trebond, and the friendships built so carefully throughout the series.
> 
> (I would apologise for the mess of relationship tags (all of their names are So Long), but I frequently bemoan how few people tag friendships important to the story, so *shrug*)

 

 

*

 

(That is a lie, of course. Alanna of Trebond has never been at rest in her life.)

 

I.

 

Jonathan of Conté watched the sleeping figure on the bed with shadowed eyes. Even in deep slumber, after being pushed to the limits of her endurance, a precariously-banked fire burned just underneath her skin. As long as he’d known Alanna, this fire had blazed within her veins – a drive of conviction, deep-seated idealism only slowly tinged by cynicism, that allowed her to get things done, no matter the consequences. No matter that it should have been impossible. The way she slept, she could wake any moment, leap into action with blazing sword and mind.

There were times he envied her that ability. Others called him strong of mind – stubborn if they were being less politic or if it was Raoul – but Alanna was in a different class altogether. Conservatives liked to whisper (in case she was near enough to hear) that it was all because she was the Goddess’ chosen. Jon had laughed the first time he had heard that theory. He had known her, had known _Alan,_ before she ever knew of the Goddess’ hand on her and Alan had been just as ready to pick fights, just as ready to stand up for what he believed.

Exhaustion tugged at him. In the distance a dull roar announced yet another part of the palace falling down. So much collateral damage to his cousin’s megalomania. Myriad duties awaited his attention elsewhere – he shouldn’t be here, taking a moment to breathe while their saviour slept. Rebuilding took up every minute of his day and more minutes of the night than his healers were comfortable with (though only Duke Baird ever dared to outright order him to _get some Mithros-forsaken sleep, Your Highness_ ). Yet here he was, just like he’d been the day before and the day before that because George was away and Jon knew that, though she would never say it, Alanna wouldn’t want to wake up alone. Not after the nightmare she’d lived through. Not after losing her twin brother, however disagreeable a character he might have been.

Gary had been covering for him, ever since he’d caught Jon trying to sneak away on that first day after the coronation. Raoul hadn’t even bothered with a pretence of disapproval. Thayet had only smiled gently and told him that there were some things more important than an hour’s work, even as she bound back the dark gleaming tresses of her hair and set out to help the workers herself. She, too, visited Alanna as often as she could manage. At first he’d been uneasy to find that the woman who had caught his heart was close friends with the woman who would always hold a corner of it, but he had come to realise just how much of a blessing it was – and not only for Thayet, alone in a strange land save for one bodyguard. Jon couldn’t begin to understand what that journey through Sarain must have been like, to cause such binding ties in a matter of weeks, but he didn’t need to. The shadows in Thayet’s eyes, the tautness of her mouth when her past came up spoke plenty.

When he turned his gaze back towards the bed, irritated at his own lapse in thought, Alanna’s eyes were looking back at him, sharp in the hollow lines of her face.

“Brooding,” she croaked, and he moved to tip a cup of water that had been waiting on the bedside table against her mouth. She drank greedily, the little bit of colour that returned to her skin making the purple of her eyes blaze less obviously.

“What else am I to do with my Champion abed in times of crisis?” he said dryly, far too relieved to see her awake at last to be prickly in the wake of the kind of observation that would usually annoy him.

Her glare lacked some of its usual fierceness, but not much.

“George?”

Jon swallowed around the apology on his tongue. “Tirragen, with fifty men. I needed someone competent I could trust to make sure that there are no more holdouts.”

He watched Alanna bite back her first irate response, subsiding into pained pragmatism. Her time unconscious and then asleep didn’t seem to have dulled her mind.

“Where do you need me?”

Jon barked a laugh. “Everywhere. But you need to fully recover first. We need our Lioness in fighting form.”

“Nothing a bit more sleep won’t cure.” She shrugged, blanket slipping down from her shoulders. Only the darkness in her eyes belied the statement. “I need to be doing, Jon, not sitting around being useless.”

“You haven’t been useless a day in your life, Alanna,” he told her ruefully, rising from his chair. Royal business would wait no longer, and now that she was awake, he could let her other friends know to visit.

Alanna held his eyes for a moment, then nodded, a little of the strain around her eyes easing. She knew he’d just agreed with her, in so many words. Jon, the friend, might have insisted she rest longer. Jon, the King, could not. She had always understood that about him, even if she didn’t always like it.

Already the damaged palace felt slightly less oppressive. Jon breathed easier.

 

II.

 

Waking up in a dungeon was not, all things considered, quite as surprising as it should’ve been. A little bit embarrassing, to have been caught unawares by the lord of the small border fief’s treason, but in their defence, they hadn’t expected any trouble and being set upon in the middle of the night was a dirty tactic.

“Took you long enough,” an amused voice came from his right, and he turned to find Alanna sitting against the wall, chin resting on her hands. A smouldering anger sparked in her eyes, but she seemed to be unharmed, which meant that she too had been sleeping when the lord’s men had snuck into the inn.

He wondered whether they had bothered with their men – a small complement of the King’s Own, camping outside the small town. Probably not, unless they’d really wanted a fight on their hands. He grinned to himself. He was quite looking forward to the Own charging the keep. The lads needed a bit of exercise anyway.

Aside from the anger, Alanna looked quite relaxed – _that_ Raoul wasn’t surprised by. The days that she would’ve been frightened by badly executed kidnappings were long past.

Raoul looked down at the chains around his wrists, heavy and cumbersome, but no worse than that.

“Honour and glory,” he said dryly.

Alanna sniggered. She had been there the first time a starry-eyed courtier had expressed his opinion on knighthood and Raoul had laughed for so long that there had been some worry they’d have to resuscitate. Her own chains were glowing slightly, which at least explained why she hadn’t broken down the door yet.

“They learn eventually. How are you with lock picks?” Alanna asked, bending over to rummage in her boot.

Raoul bit back a laugh. Most people who only ever saw the Lioness, would’ve been appalled to realise that if there was a problem she couldn’t stab, bash over the head, or blast with magic, Alanna turned to any other solution that presented itself, whether it was dubiously legal activities such as lock picking or using her famously sharp tongue. She was not a woman who gave in to something simply because there wasn’t an easy solution.

Or maybe George was just a bad influence on her.

“Not as good as you, but George did badger us all into learning,” he replied truthfully, and stretched his hands towards her as far as the chains would allow. When their fingers met in the middle and Alanna easily dropped the small lock picks into his lager hands, he could only shake his head. Amateurs.

Alanna’s thoughts seemed to run along a similar vein, for she was scowling a little as he began to work open the locks on his chains. She rustled her own. “They always remember to put magic-binding chains on me, but they never stop to think that letting my companions get away with normal chains could catapult them into equally troubled waters.”

The first cuff broke open with a clink. Raoul shrugged. “You outshine us all.”

The scowl deepened. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re one of the best knights of the realm. And hardly inconspicuous,” she added, with a pointed look at his long legs.

“In their defence, the stories do tend to make you out as taller,” he said equably. Her own heroism was one topic where Alanna didn’t necessarily see clearly, but Raoul usually didn’t feel like arguing the point. Even if he was occasionally tempted to point out that for someone who had sworn to go on to do great deeds when they were _ten_ , she sure seemed surprised by being seen as a hero once she’d done it. Besides, it was good to see her go red as a beet every so often. It made him feel less alone in his lack of social graces.

The second cuff snapped open. Raoul took a moment to massage his sore wrists, grimacing at the feeling of restored blood flow, then turned to Alanna, lock picks in hand.

She shook her head. “Won’t work. These are spelled to melt any lock picks.”

Raoul raised his brows. “Lord Canovan really must be deathly afraid of you. Plan?”

“You’re the strategist,” she told him, “but as I see it, we only have to wait until someone comes to bring us food, I distract them, you bash them over the head and we’re out of here. That is if the Own doesn’t come charging in first.”

“They do tend to get cross when their commanders are rudely kidnapped in the night.” He gave her another careful once over. “Forgive me for saying so, but you seem rather sanguine about our current circumstances.”

“Oh please, we’ll be out of here in no time.” She caught his wry gaze. “Patience may not be my greatest virtue, _Goldenlake_ , but the company is good and the wind was damned chilly outside.”

Which was why they had slept in the inn, which had got them kidnapped. This would give him ammunition to tease her for years to come.

Raoul smiled, and settled back against the wall for the wait.

 

III.

 

Alanna the Lioness had brought him to Pirate’s Swoop. To her home. Of all the things Numaír had expected from Tortall, this certainly hadn’t been one of them. Yes, she had been the one to bring him to Corus and refuse to leave him alone until he’d managed some semblance of settling in, but he hadn’t thought that would involve dragging him along with her when she rode down south again.

If he was entirely honest with himself, he knew that she had done so because she had noticed his increasing jitteriness in the palace. He liked Tortall and the king’s court, but the shadow of Ozorne still haunted him, and he hadn’t yet felt able to truly relax. In a typical move full of gruff kindness, Alanna hadn’t mentioned it – instead she had brought him here.

The view from atop the Swoop’s walls was marvellous, heaving sea in one direction and deep green forest in the other. Behind him the fief was busy, the occasional shout drifting up on the stirrings of wind that carried the first chill of autumn. For all that he had only just dragged himself out of bed – and completely forgotten about breakfast – it was nearing midday already.

Alanna was halfway up the stairs before he noticed her approach. For a woman currently wearing a dress she moved stealthily, though he did note the sensible shoes peeking out below the sleek fabric.

“Quite a view, isn’t it?” she said and didn’t even have the grace to sound out of breath.

He nodded. For all that the view really was spectacular, it wasn’t what truly captured his attention. The atmosphere in the castle was… strange. There was bustle, yes, but underneath there lay the calm of a true home that confused him. Alanna, too, looked more settled, eyes alive and a spring in her normally combative step. Though that might also be due to the presence of her husband, he thought wryly.

If said long-suffering husband hadn’t already complained about her plans to redo the stables, Numaír might’ve been tempted to think she was content to be idle here. Then again, her purple eyes had lost none of their sharpness as she studied him. Perhaps they would be having that talk about his problems settling into life at court after all.

But she only turned back towards the stairs after a long moment of watching sunlight ripple on the waves.

“Come with me,” she instructed, and Numaír automatically followed her down into the courtyard. He might’ve been irritated with himself, but Alanna had a way of asserting words rather than speaking them that made anyone follow her lead without quite meaning to, so he was in good company.

Numaír’s heart sank as he realised that she had led them to the infirmary. His lack of healing skills had long been a niggling shame – especially since Alanna, who had realised his potential almost from the first, had asked after his usefulness in that area. For all that she never expressed her disappointment in his lack of aptitude, he would’ve _liked_ to learn from her. It wasn’t vanity to say that there were few mages in Tortall indeed who had anything left they could teach him.

Numair swallowed back all of this and followed Alanna into the sickroom. The only occupant’s face brightened.

“My lady! How are the troops? The healer never does answer my questions properly.”

Alanna smiled at the man, hands coming to rest on his leg as purple light started to flare. The man looked vaguely Scanran, blond and bearded, ruggedly competent. Lines of pain in his face eased at Alanna’s ministrations.

“The troops are coping just fine without you. This is Olfen, my guard captain,” Alanna told Numaír, sounding only a little distracted as she tended to the man’s leg. As she worked, an intangible tension seemed to leave her, despite the mouth firmed in concentration. If Numaír had thought her settled here before, something indefinably _more_ fell into place now. “He thought it was a good idea to run down stairs cluttered with wet leaves and broke a leg for his trouble. One of the most complicated breaks I’ve ever seen, too.”

Olfen looked unmoved by the implied reprimand. “Indeed that was what happened, though my lady here leaves out the cry of distress I was responding to at the time.”

Alanna glared. “It was a maid who’d dropped her pail and spilled milk all over the front stoop.”

“As I said, distress.” Olfen winked at Numaír, then turned back to his mistress. “Another one of your strays, my lady?”

Alanna poked him in the ribs. “Watch your mouth, Olfen. It wasn’t so long ago you were one yourself.”

The purple light slowly eased off into nothingness and Olfen wiggled his toes in obvious satisfaction. “Oh, I have no complaints. Your lord husband and his stables will appreciate it, too.”

Alanna’s glare returned as she rose from the edge of the bed. “Then it’s a good thing my _lord husband_ knows better than to tell me so to my face.”

She swept out of the room and Numaír trailed after her, feeling distressingly like a lost duckling in the wake of a bow wave. The much-discussed stables were their next destination.

“Did you see?” Alanna asked him, once they’d shut the cold wind outside.

“You know I have no gift for healing, Alanna,” Numaír murmured, staying well away from the curious horse heads all around. The last thing he needed right now was to accidentally get himself bitten.

A hand on his arm drew his gaze back to Alanna. Her eyes had gentled into understanding. “That wasn’t the point. There is no shame in that, Numaír. What I meant you to see...” She paused, absently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The dress rustled as she moved. “I used to dislike it when people watched me heal, but I didn’t know _why_ then. The Goddess told me that gifts given should be used, and with how many people I would kill during my lifetime healing would counterbalance my tally – give my soul rest. It took me a long time to truly understand what she meant, down to my bones.” She smiled crookedly. “I know you just saw it. Most people who know me well do.”

Numaír opened his mouth to remind her, once again, that whatever lesson she was trying to impart, he _still_ didn’t have any healing gift, but she held up a hand to forestall him.

“That I find it while healing isn’t the point. The _point_ is that everyone needs to find their way of achieving that peace. Equilibrium, whatever you want to call it. That will settle you like nothing else.”

He closed his mouth, thought of rows of books, old parchment under his hand, obscure treatises allowing him to combine his own knowledge with other scholars’ and making something new, something beautiful. He nodded.

Lesson imparted, amusement flickered over Alanna’s expression. “Oh, look at me talking about putting my mind to rest. George will laugh himself sick.”

She straightened her dress, unheeding of the bits of straw now stuck to the hem and marched back outside, but not after feeding her favourite pony an apple.

“I need to go find someone to spar with,” she called over her shoulder, “and Thom’s been asking after you. Go distract him for the afternoon, will you?”

Numaír, bemused and thoughtful, did as he was told.

 

IV.

 

Frasrlund was rather more bustling than a stronghold in wartime could reasonably be expected to be and Kel enjoyed the ride to the castle where army command had set up, despite the occasional cheers and exclamations of ‘Protector of the Small’ that usually made her grind her teeth.

A guard directed her to the war-room where she found the object of her journey squinting at a map that covered much of the wall.

Alanna the Lioness turned around at the sound of Kel’s footsteps on the stone floor and smiled in greeting.

“Ah. Vanget has finally seen fit to send me useful reinforcements.”

Kel set a satchel full of missives the commanders further south had entrusted her to carry down on the table. “I only brought a squad of men with me.”

Purples eyes flashed amusement. “Not what I meant, Lady Knight.”

Coming from the first female knight in centuries, the title sounded weightier, a benediction that Kel couldn’t find in anyone else’s regard. Warmth ran through her.

“Raoul told me you’re a better commander than I am,” Alanna – as she had insisted the last time they had met in happier circumstances – continued, “and after what you did with your refugee camp, I’m not inclined to argue with him.”

Kel allowed her mask to slip enough for a smile to emerge. “What happened to age and treachery?”

“Oh, that’s still alive and kicking.” Alanna waved her hand, sword flashing at her hip. “I’m not leaving you to fight the Scanran hordes alone, never fear. Raoul would never forgive me.”

“My lord does have rather stringent ideas as to my continued survival, yes,” Kel agreed. “Goddess knows where he gets those from.”

“Oh, maybe it’s the way you’ve nearly died at least once every years since you entered page training.” Alanna snorted. “Raoul keeps complaining that you remind him of me in my younger years. Always finding trouble everywhere.” Her eyes sharpened and it occurred to Kel that Alanna’s moods changed with the speed – as well as the promise of impending doom – of a charging warhorse. “Mind, trouble that needed finding, most of the time, and you’re no different there.”

Kel couldn’t quite decide whether she was supposed to feel sheepish or not. “You can’t tell me there wasn’t any hazing of first years when you were a page.”

“Oh, there was, but I was too busy trying to fit in and hold my temper to do much about it. Besides you got it far worse than I did, being openly female.”

Kel, who had heard the story of Ralon of Malven from Raoul one late night, begged to differ, but before she could say anything, Alanna continued. “And that isn’t what I was talking about. You’ve done far more than put an end to pointless hazing.” There was an intensity to Alanna’s gaze that perhaps should’ve been alarming, but Kel only felt calm. “I waited for you for _years_. The kingdom waited, too, whatever those crotchety conservatives might claim.”

Kel shifted on her feet. “I don’t think the King agrees.”

But the other woman only waved that off. “Jon shouldn’t always be listened to. He’s got himself all in a knot over the politics, and the wrong politics at that. The only reason this probation year business hasn’t nipped him in the butt more than it already has is because he at least had the sense to get out of your way and let you do your work afterwards.”

That was certainly a… unique view of the King. For all that they were Tortall’s two living female knights, bound by more than just budding friendship, there were some things the Lioness’ view would always be different on. Growing up with someone would do that to you, Kel supposed. Her mind flashed to Neal and she suppressed a smile.

Alanna wasn’t quite done yet.

“You have managed, in a few short years, all the things I have failed to do. It took _you_ to get girls openly accepted as pages – and that still wouldn’t have counted for much if you didn’t also have a knack for inspiring others to follow in your footsteps. For that you will always have my gratitude.”

“But you are the one who’s truly inspiring!” Kel protested immediately, a flush rising to her face. “Without you I never would have tried for my shield.”

Alanna shook her head. “And I thank you for that credit, but I’ve always been a bit too unnatural to truly pave the way. Too much of a fluke.” She glared. “Accept the damn compliment, Kel.”

Kel’s pleased embarrassment hung in the silent air between them. Then Alanna straightened.

“Now, how about we figure out how to send the rest of Maggur’s army back where it came from?”

Only long years of Yamani training kept her from jumping on the change of topic with undue relief. Alanna the Lioness wasn’t only disconcerting when she was staring at you over the edge of a blade. That amount of intensity had to be exhausting – though, according to Neal at least, Kel herself probably shouldn’t throw any stones from behind fragile glass windows.

Between the two of them, a more compassionate being might have pitied the Scanrans.

 

V.

 

It was rare that they were all gathered together like this, even in the glorious decade of peace Tortall had enjoyed after the end of the Scanran war.

Daine watched Kel drift over to the Yamani group, Yuki and Shinkokami conducting a surprisingly giggly conversation behind raised fans. Buri and Thayet were engrossed in conversation with Onua, probably about the Riders, Eleni calmly stitched away in the corner with fingers still nimble despite their age, unbothered by the swell of conversation around her, and Alanna sat next to the fire, staring into the flames as if they had personally offended her. There were new lines in the Lioness’ face, drawn by war and the continuing absence of her daughter. Sarralyn and Rikash were with their father, who gladly left her to her women’s evenings – especially since it meant he could bury his face in a book as soon as the children were asleep.

Daine cocked her head, considering, then made her way over to her third-oldest human friend. Alanna looked up and managed a smile, patting the empty seat next to her in clear invitation.

It wasn’t hard to figure out where the other woman’s brooding thoughts had taken her. Stirrings of unrest in Galla had evolved into more concrete whispers. Watchful tension had blanketed Corus for the last few days, waiting to see whether violence would once more spill into Tortall.

“Is it ever enough, do you think?” Daine asked quietly, long used to the stark purple of Alanna’s eyes as they flashed towards her. The tiredness in them, though – that hadn’t always been there.

“No. It never truly stops.” The Lioness’ voice was hard, unflinching in the face of her warrior’s truth. “But that hasn’t stopped us from trying to make it so.”

No, one didn’t go to the Lioness for comforting lies. Daine exhaled. “I’m fair tired of war. Numaír keeps talking about retiring, but I don’t think we can. He doesn’t truly mean it either, I don’t think.”

Alanna nodded, with the kind of sympathetic understanding that spoke of a similar situation. “Roald will need us, when his time comes, especially if there is war. Jon is getting old now.” Her lips quirked. “But not too old not to want to scandalise everyone by abdicating.”

This was news even to Daine, who usually heard most of the interesting palace gossip from Onua or the horses before it became widely known.

“I thought kings didn’t...”

Alanna shrugged. “It’s not traditional, but he has a point. The crown is a heavy burden to bear even for a man in his prime. The realm needs a strong leader.” Mischief sparked in her eyes. “One who doesn’t feel the need to nap in the middle of the day. And Thayet would appreciate it.”

“What does George think?” Daine asked curiously – she had figured out long ago that if one wanted a refreshingly unique perspective on things, the Baron of Pirate Swoop was the best person to ask.

A grin flashed over Alanna’s face. “He just about laughed himself sick the first time he heard. Given that he _didn’t_ come up with a long list of reasons as to why Jon shouldn’t, I expect he approves.” She straightened, stretching her arms with a quiet groan. “Speaking of my esteemed husband, I need to be off. He expects me tomorrow and Neal’s latest meltdown kept me from getting any packing done this morning.”

Daine opened her mouth to ask, then thought better of it and only nodded, offering the other woman a smile.

“Safe travels, Alanna. I’ll let Numaír know that he can stop hiding around corners every time he sees you coming.”

Alanna raised a brow. “What am I angry at him for this time again?”

“The experiment last week? The one that woke half the palace in the middle of the night?”

“Oh, yes.” A smile nothing other than wicked bloomed. “Perhaps I should pay him a visit now before I leave.”

Daine shook her head, fond all over again. “Just don’t upset Kitten this time. She doesn’t like it when her humans fight.”

“I shall do my utmost,” Alanna agreed, but some of the levity had left her expression again, despite the general cheer in the room. When she stood, back creaking ever so slightly, Alanna briefly rested a warm hand on Daine’s shoulder. “There’s peace yet, Daine. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Daine watched her go from the room, steps a little slower than they used to be, and wondered.

Despite her words, it wasn’t peacefulness, exactly, in Alanna’s bearing. The knight appreciated peace as the absence of war and fighting and loss of lives, but she wasn’t at peace herself – always pushing against a new problem or idea. _She needs a project, restless lass that she is_ , George had once said and Daine could see the evidence of that every time they met. Her friend was growing old too – she wasn’t much younger than the King – but the fire in her burned as brightly as it ever had, for all the outer shell of tiredness and cynicism wrought by years of life. Daine didn’t think Alanna knew any other way to exist. Perhaps it was that way for all the Gods’ chosen, but she rather thought that this was an Alanna-thing regardless. After all, it stood to reason that the Gods based their choices on pre-existing qualities. Surely few mortals would do in the first place – in her experience Gods were a picky lot.

Whatever else she was, Alanna was certainly unique.

Shaking her head at her own maudlin thoughts – philosophising like this tended to be Numaír’s job after all – Daine wandered over to Onua, Thayet and Buri. She could worry about the King’s Champion’s restless soul later.

 

*

 

(The first time someone accuses her of slowing down, Alanna laughs and laughs and laughs.)

 

 

  



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